Save Me a Dance
by RenaRoo
Summary: Cassandra has fallen hard, but she takes it as she takes most things in life: full of gusto and not looking back. [CassxOC]


red-dye-number-five prompted: This should be four, yes? Prompt four: Cass and her Indian girlfriend.

I can't thank you enough for this prompt, buddy X3 Of the three ideas I had for Cass' Tiny Dancer when I started those crack posts, Chandi was definitely, by far, my favorite. I feel bad that this is the first and so far only thing I've done with her.

I also want to shout out to my high school best friend, Dhwani, whose friendship and

Batman and related properties © DC Comics  
story, Chandi © RenaRoo

 **Save Me a Dance**

Tim had been a little bit of help, though his surprise had taken some time to wear off when Cass explained, to the best of her abilities, the situation at hand. Still, he is something of her confidante at this point, and while Bruce could be gone to for research it was unlikely that it would end with what information Cass needed. He'd want to dig deeper. Same with Barbara - though it is highly unlikely she doesn't already know and has looked deep into Chandi's background anyway.

The Indian community in Gotham has never been looked into by Cass before, not like Chinatown where the Lucky Hand Triad is a concern or the East End where Catwoman's full-time attention seems to barely scrape the surface on most days. It is much smaller, closer knit.

"It's _Bharatanatyam,"_ Tim had told her almost two hours before now, handing her a small recorder with headphones. "It's storytelling. The first recording is how to say _Bharatanatyam_ and the second is a guy from the BBC reciting the text so you know what's going on before you watch it."

Cass only got halfway through the second recording before deciding it would be more advantageous in the time leading up to the performance that she be able to pronounce the name correctly. The words of the tired sounding man were far too boring to sink in with her in any case.

The small square outside of the temple is filling and Cass takes a seat on the sidewalk not far from the temporary stage where Chandi will be.

Chandi's children - the ones elementary or younger in her classes - are all ornately dressed, gorgeous, covered in bells. Cass enjoys their bright colors and layered dress.

 _Bharatanatyam_

They are young, a bit clumsy in their motions. The one on the far left is near tears by the end of their four minute piece, but smiles wide and beautiful when the gathered crowd clap and take pictures of their community's youth. Cass locks eyes with her and gives an encouraging nod.

 _Bhara-_

Cass wants desperately to impress, to seem… knowledgeable. Chandi has said how much this Fall Dance means to her. Cassandra wants to know-

 _-tanatyam_

There are a few stragglers whose cameras flash but the adult performers have come out and the crowd is patient even in its rising anxiety. It makes Cass uncomfortable, unfocused. There is so much tension surrounding her that it's hard to pinpoint what she wants to-

Their eyes meet. Chandi on the stage, in the center, her body covered in beautiful silks, ankles clad in golden bells, fine jewelry decorating her from the tight bun of her black hair to the rings of her toes. Her smile is hypnotic.

Cass can't breathe as the music swells, unlike anything Cass has listened to with her brothers or friends before, haunting in its synchronization with the movements of Chandi and her dancers. The bells ring with each step and each motion is a word without being spoken.

It is a story, the story of Chandi's ancestors, and with her eyes on Cassandra, Cass knows that this story is being told for her. So Cass can understand for herself, without words, what Chandi and her people love and hold so dear.

Breathless, Cassandra watches the epic unfold.

* * *

When Black Bat had deemed the fastest way to get medical care to a gunshot victim eight months ago was to have her brought to Cassandra Wayne's apartment and immediately dress her wounds, there was no way for Cass to predict that she would still be there - now - helping Cass cook dinner.

"You have the culinary skills of a sloth, _priya,"_ Chandi laughs, tying back her long hair with one of Cass' own hair ties. "Or some other creature slow enough to grow moss."

Cass frowns and stirs the batter at the same pace only to get a sympathetic look from her girlfriend.

Chandi takes the bowl into her arms and begins expertly beating the mix - just as she's taken over the cooking pot and the vegetables.

If there had been classes to teach today or a performance, Chandi would be as perfectly dressed as usual, normally traditional dress such as churidaar or sari, or a more American style accented by the endless supply of gorgeous accessories that Chandi continued to insist were the same items matched differently. But today Chandi did not have plans of leaving the apartment. She was in sweats.

Sweats were only for Cassandra, and Cass had found there was something unbelievably beautiful about seeing Chandi in just that.

"I think," Chandi says, continuing to mix, "Americans have too much of these baked things. Everything is so… _sweet_ here. I hope your father likes this cake. But I wish I could make them _rasgulla."_

Cass blinks, takes a seat at the table as she is apparently no use in the kitchen. "We can," she says. "Why not make it?"

Chandi gives her a look of complete confusion before laughing and shaking her head. "No no no no, not sweet enough. I've seen cakes here. It's all sugar and colored things. Besides. The cake is mixed. Why would we make two sweets for tomorrow?"

"We'll make it," Cass says definitively, looking seriously to Chandi. "Next time. They… they'll love it."

There's a slight pause in Chandi's mixing as she looks to Cass. She smiles, so soft and loving. It does strange things to Cass' chest.

"You mean, _I_ will make it," Chandi finally laughs, continuing mixing. "I remember what happened to my ramen, _priya_. It was hard to overcome."

Cass is still not sure why eating dry ramen is so disturbing.

* * *

Not having to work gives Cassandra plenty of time during her days. Time she can spend how she pleases - which is to say she rarely doesn't spend it perfecting her moves, practicing. Always practicing.

But she has gotten better. Barbara and her meet several times a week, she shops with Steph, there are the Wayne events that she's obligated to, and there's always Chandi's classes she can sit in on, her performances that Cass won't miss for the world. The family dinners that Bruce and Alfred now make mandatory for Fridays since Cass moved into the apartment full time.

And there's always coffee with Tim.

He sits, smirking at her as she picks at the paper lining outside her cup.

"Don't worry, I think it's edible," he assures her almost smugly.

She flicks the scraps of paper at his head with deadly accuracy. He rolls his eyes.

"How are… classes?" she asks, attempting for casual. Like their family hasn't made a habit of knowing every intimate detail of each other's lives at any one time.

"Fantastic," he assures her, leaning back in the chair. "I'm… actually really glad that B talked me into going. It's not like high school. I only take classes I'm interested in, and I only pick times that are best for… well, me." _Us._

Because anything before or after midday for a Bat is uncertain. One never knows when Red Robin or Black Bat might be needed.

This pleases Cass. She stops picking at her cup long enough to sip.

"What about you and Chandi?" he asks, face drawn a little more serious. "I know you guys haven't really missed a 'family dinner' yet," unlike Tim, who has never quite learned how to take family matters and _mandatory_ in the same breath, "but… I mean, are things… good?"

Cass thinks on this, lowers her cup back to the table with a soft hum.

Her clothes smell like lavender because Chandi thinks the off brand Cass used to grab was unnecessary. There's never been a time where Cass has felt so full.

Cass' thoughts rotate from the beauty of combat to the art of dancing almost interchangeably. She feels like Chandi takes her to different worlds and new ideas without a single spoken word.

"I'm happy," Cass says with a weightlessness she has never felt before. "I am."

It's been a long time since she's seen Tim smile so genuinely at her. "I'm glad."

* * *

Chandi practices her art the way Cass practices fighting. Constant, intimate, and _masterfully._ Watching her dance, her move, is one of the greatest pleasures Cassandra has in her morning routine.

Her time in the practice room ends when she hears Chandi stirring in the bedroom above. Cass wraps up her moves and makes her way to the living room where she clears all the furniture out of the center and lays out Chandi's practice mats.

It is the small gesture she can do for the woman who makes her breakfast, lunch and dinner, who waits for Cass' return after patrols, and who is so pleasant even Bruce and Barbara's combined scrutiny hasn't been powerful enough to leave her any doubts about Cass.

About them.

Chandi climbs down the stairs, smiles at Cass, and hugs her tightly before doing her warm ups.

Before dancing. Before telling Cass her stories.

And this morning, like the last several mornings before it, it's not long into the morning before Cass gets up from her spot on the floor and joins her partner.

It's not the dances that Chandi teaches her classes or performs on stage.

When it's Cassandra and Chandi together, it is their own dance. It's their own little story.


End file.
